


Read Away From Me

by Statari



Category: Inkheart (2008)
Genre: Canon - Movie, Fix-It, M/M, Male Slash, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Statari/pseuds/Statari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farid and Dustfinger have a brief goodbye and, although Farid attempts to put on a brave front, he seems rather upset. This is a look at how the two men feel at the end of the movie and what might have happened if Silvertongue had 'finished' the passage.</p><p>I admit, I haven't read the books.  Only seen the movie, but their actors were so wonderful, I had to write this down.  Mind you, this was written back in 2009 for FF.net but I still quite enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As per my usual style, there's sex in the second chapter!

"You were going to leave without me?"

Dustfinger glanced away from the burbling river flowing steadily beneath the old stone bridge and looked over his shoulder. "Oh no," he groaned, rolling his eyes towards the heavens. He swung back to the river. "You would be better off with them," he muttered, unable to look at the persistent boy's face again. He wanted to go fight Capricorn and Dustfinger allowed it. He wanted to learn to control fire and Dustfinger had taught him. Every time he gave in he hoped the boy would become satisfied and leave him in peace.

"Well, if you're going," Farid replied evenly, "you should probably take this with you."

Dustfinger turned around. Farid was standing there on the rise of the arched bridge with his hand out, holding the final copy of Inkheart. Dustfinger's heart clenched. He strode across the distance and ripped the book from Farid's hands. He stared into dark eyes. Even holding it in his fingers, Dustfinger could hardly believe it. He licked his thumb and forefinger and opened the book, flipping through the pages of his own story. "You stole this?" he asked, fixing Farid with a steely look.

Farid shifted from foot to foot and a grin broke out on his face at the mild appreciation in Dustfinger's voice. "I learned from the best," he said excitedly, "I thought we could find someone, another reader; someone who could send you back!" Farid spoke quickly, hoping to convince Dustfinger to take him too before Dustfinger had the opportunity to protest. He wanted to learn everything Dustfinger had to teach him but it would mean nothing if Dustfinger were not around to teach.

Dustfinger looked up from Inkheart and leveled a penetrating glare at him. "What about that girl? You like her don't you?" he asked knowingly. "You come with me, you may never see her again."

Farid looked down at the paving stones beneath his shoes and fingered the edge of the photo-book. He decided quickly to show Dustfinger, having no wish to allow anything to come between him and his opportunity to see more of the world. "I stole photo from Silvertongue's pocket," he said and held out the leather case so Dustfinger could see the small pictures of Meggie inside.

Dustfinger eyed the pictures of the smiling Meggie, evidence of Farid's affection for the girl. He looked up at Farid's hopeful and expectant expression. Sliding the precious copy of Inkheart into a pocket inside of his coat, he turned away. The pictures showed that Farid cared about Meggie and yet... and yet Farid was leaving her behind, seemingly without a second thought on the matter.

"Well..." Dustfinger hedged. "If I'm going to be saddled with you-"

Dustfinger slid his pack off his shoulder and swung it out to the side as he turned back to the boy. Tossing it through the air, he said, "You can make yourself useful."

Dustfinger turned and scooped Gwin up. "We've got a long walk ahead of us," he said, completely missing the broad, joyful grin that lit up Farid's face but he could practically feel the happiness vibrations radiating out from every footstep he took to keep up. He could not, however, understand why Farid was so insistent on coming with him. It was unfathomable. The fellow book character was completely besotted with the real-world reader child and it made no sense that he would simply drop the girl and go away into the unknown world with him. It was in Dustfinger's nature to travel far and wide, either to look for work or, in the more recent years, to look for long lost copies of Inkheart. Perhaps it was also in Farid's nature to wander.

Dustfinger was broken from his reverie when Gwin began to squirm and attempt to climb down his shoulder. He paused for but a moment and deposited the willful marten on the ground, trusting that she would follow on foot after completing whatever business she'd deemed so necessary.

The brown and white marten hopped a few steps back and stood up on its hind legs. Farid leaned down and lifted her up in his arms, allowing her to climb over his shoulder and disappear into the sack as he'd seen her do many times before with Dustfinger.

He pulled the edges of jacket tighter around his body and shivered. The air here was thick with water and was chilly, like nighttime in the desert. A slight breeze moved between the tall, leafy trees and ruffled the strands of hair not caught up in the hairband. They tickled his neck. Pushing them back over his shoulder Farid considered the blonde man beside him. Dustfinger was an enigmatic man from an entirely different world and a man that possessed a strange and beautiful gift. He could remember watching the performers at the bazaar as a small child, the ones that seemed to breathe fire. He had been in awe of their magic, their mystery, but ever since he'd fallen out of that bejeweled cave and into the rotting stables of Capricorn, Farid knew that their ability had been false and that what Dustfinger had to offer was real. He wiped one sweaty hand on the side of his jacket. He had learned enough already but it was not completely under control. Every once and awhile the heat in his hands would flare up sometimes doing nothing more than causing a sweat and sometimes causing his flesh to burn.

These flare ups seemed a lot like the man who'd taught him the secret. He had the uncanny ability to melt all of Farid's previously held convictions and cause new ones to flare up in their place. One moment the man would be relaxed and easy-going and the next he would be directing his raging temper in Farid's direction. Farid looked at the side of Dustfinger's face.

He was studiously ignoring him, looking down at the dirt road. Farid opened his mouth to ask a question and break the silence when he heard yelling behind them.

"Dustfinger!' came the call.

He turned around to see Silvertongue jogging down the path towards them.

"Dustfinger!" Silvertongue called out again, causing the man in question to turn around at the sound of his name.

They both stood and waited as Silvertongue caught up. Dustfinger fixed the reader with an expectant gaze and waited as the man caught his breath and said, "I promised."

Farid's eyes widened.

Silvertongue's hands flopped out the sides and added, "It's your turn now."

"Great," Dustfinger replied hardly able to believe his own ears.

Farid watched as Dustfinger fumbled around inside of his jacket. Farid could feel his heart dropping in his chest as Dustfinger eagerly pushed the book into Silvertongue's hands. He managed to offer up a half-hearted guilty smile when Silvertongue silently berated him for stealing the book in the first place. But he couldn't really stir up either the shame or the humor necessary for the situation.

Silvertongue opened the book and looked up at Dustfinger. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked.

The Arab's head immediately swung over to Dustfinger. Farid knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was what Dustfinger wanted more than he wanted the breath in his body and he truly did want to make his mentor happy, but there was a small portion of his heart that wanted Dustfinger to say no. The tiniest corner wanted him to stay where Farid could follow and learn for as long as absolutely possible.

"You remember what happens at the end of the book."

Farid did, and he knew Dustfinger knew as well. He couldn't bear thinking about it.

Dustfinger nodded his head quickly. "It's like I told the writer; he doesn't control me," he said confidently. "My fate's in my own hands now."

A small spark appeared in Dustfinger's eyes at the shining surety of returning home. He gave Silvertongue another small nod as a go-ahead. When Silvertongue looked down to find the passage that would send Dustfinger back into the book, Dustfinger finally looked over to Farid. He offered him the brightest smile yet and cupped a hand around the side of his face.

Once more Farid's smile was weak but Dustfinger was in no condition to understand what that meant. He was so focused on regaining his own spark of life that he missed the spark dying in his new apprentice's.

Although sadness weighed heavy on Farid's heart, he couldn't help the fondness that grew around the edges of his being. Dustfinger's fingertips slid down his jaw as the fire-eater focused in on Silvertongue.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Silvertongue joked, "but don't come back, okay?"

Dustfinger smiled and nodded, not at all intent on returning to this world after he'd gotten home. "Do it," he urged, shifting.

Farid briefly considered reminding Dustfinger of the marten he carried in the bag on his shoulder but he readily decided against it. If he gave Gwin back to Dustfinger then the fire-eater would go back in Inkheart and continue on with life as he had before coming out. If he kept the marten however, it was possible that Dustfinger's life would be different enough to prevent the man's death.

Silvertongue opened his mouth and began to read from the book.

"It had been many years since Dustfinger had set eyes on the rolling meadows and the old mill. But it was even more beautiful than he remembered."

Farid's eyelids drooped as the scenery around him began to warp. The breeze in the air was no longer the damp, heavy draft it had been before; it was now a warm touch on his skin, gentle and welcoming.

"The butterflies flitted above the grass and hummingbirds thrummed beside the small open flowers."

Farid's vision blurred at the strength of Silvertongue's spell. He could see a pretty blue bird darted in front of the reader's face, an obvious exchange for the man he'd sent into the story. The little bird fluttered away and, distractedly, Silvertongue glanced down and finished the passage.

"Dustfinger ran his fingers through the tall stalks and smiled. Laughter was on the wind. Feeling at peace for the first time in ages, he walked down the slope, finally on his way to being truly happy."

Mo felt the air around him relax its magical tension and return to the foggy state it had been in previous his spell.

"Father!" he heard Meggie shout behind him. Mo turned to see his wife and his daughter running towards him hand in hand and thought he couldn't be happier than he was at that moment.

"He's gone back," he told them contentedly, snapping Inkheart closed.

"Where's Farid?" Meggie asked with a frown.

Mo frowned as well, glancing about to see where the Arab had gone. The clearing was empty but for him, his wife, his daughter, and the two hummingbirds fighting merrily over the same yellow flower.


	2. Chapter 2

Dustfinger's heart swelled inside his chest to the point where he thought it might burst out of his chest. Suddenly feeling alive, Dustfinger moved through the tall grass, pushing his hands against the stalks and marveling at the beauty of valley, bright in the late summer sun. Home, he thought lovingly, realizing that he was but moments away. He gait was uneven on the slope because he was barely able to contain his excitement.

When he saw her he paused. Dressed in red, she stood halfway down the hill, binding green grasses into a large bundle braced against her hip.

"Roxane!" The name slipped from his lips in a strangled cry before he realized he said it. Stumbling into a run, he ran towards his wife. "Roxane!" he called again.

She turned around, shock plastered on her face. A smile tugged on the corners of her lips as she too broke into a run, holding her arms out to receive the running hug he had to offer. It felt so good to hold her warm body against his own, to lift her off the ground and breathe in her fresh scent.

"Dustfinger!" she gasped, digging her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck.

Dustfinger was overcome with emotion and he sobbed out her name in a tightly controlled whisper. "Roxane!"

His wife's fingers untangled themselves from his hair and her hands spread out against his shoulders. "Wait," she gasped, pushing lightly. "Wait!"

Dustfinger finally processed his wife's protests and set her on her feet again. He cupped his hands around her cheeks and peered into her face, unable to get enough.

"Who is that?" she asked, absently looking around him.

Dustfinger turned and did a double take.

"Dammit!" Dustfinger swore. Roxane's hips slipped out of his hands as he turned around. "What are you doing here?" he asked, stress causing his voice to break.

The dark youth paused on the slope. His lips tightened at Dustfinger's anger and distress. "I don't know," he admitted, looking around at the green valley.

Dustfinger approached him and grasped the boy's upper arm. "I can't believe you asked Silvertongue to read you here. You have no right to be in my story because you don't belong!" He forcibly turned the young man away from his confused wife and marched him up the hill as far as could before the little thief dug his heels in.

"I didn't ask him!" Farid growled as he tore his arm away.

Dustfinger's hands itched. Anger burned under his skin but he forced himself to restrain it and allow the boy to continue. "Silvertongue read the passage," Farid said, calming his voice down. He eyed the dark haired woman standing down the hill, wringing her hands and glancing nervously over her shoulder. "You went back into Inkheart and by the time his voice faded away, I was here!"

It was on the tip of his tongue to accuse Farid of lying but before he could get the words out, he noticed Roxane dropping the bale of grass in the middle of the field.

"Roxane!"he called out, promptly turning to follow her. "Roxane, wait!" he called out.

She did not turn back towards him. He reached out his hand but he had hardly felt the cloth under his fingertips before it disappeared. "Roxane!" he called out in anguished confusion.

She stopped and faced him, her red skirts swirling out around her legs. "What are you doing here, Dustfinger?" she cried.

The fire-eater held out his hands. "What are you talking about? I came home."

Roxane's hair swept over one shoulder in the wind and she glanced at the house. "You can't be here," she insisted.

"What- what are you talking about?"

"My husband..." she started, trailing off.

Farid did not know who the woman was or what her husband had to do with anything, but he did know that the word caused Dustfinger a sever amount of pain. Tension grew in his shoulders and his hands gripped tight.

"I am your husband!" Dustfinger insisted, pointing to his own chest.

The woman's eyebrows knitted together as she backed away a few steps down the hill. "What did you expect me to do, Dustfinger? You were gone so long; I thought you weren't coming back this time! I needed someone to provide for me; Brianna needed a father! I couldn't protect us any longer."

"So you replaced me?" Dustfinger accused.

"I had no choice!" she protested.

Farid offered her a pitying look but his focus was on Dustfinger as the man threw up his hands and turned away. The fire-eater was shutting down, refusing to hear the unpleasant explanations his wife had to offer. Dustfinger began to run through the grass. His heart clenched at his mentor's pain and ran after him.

Technically, Farid supposed, Dustfinger was following the trail. Unfortunately, it was nothing more than a winding, narrow path created by repeated but sporadic uses. The dirt had not been worn smooth by the constant shuffle of feet and the tall grass frequently encroached upon the semi-designated foot space. Farid was so busy keeping his eyes glued to Dustfinger's back that he actually stumbled a number of times before he got the hang of picking his way through the thick growth.

They crossed many fields, trekking up and down hillsides throughout the day until the path finally leveled along the tree line of a vast forest. This trail was straighter and obviously more traveled because the way was clear and Farid's natural grace kept him at Dustfinger's back with little thought.

He was concerned for his mentor. The man was charging forward as though the man who had dared to touch his wife lay in front of him rather than behind. In a way, Farid almost wanted Dustfinger to go after the intruder like some of the men he'd known growing up. The irrational violence was familiar and predictable but this furious retreat coupled with the war he knew the man was waging inside left Farid with no basis to go off of.

By the time the sun sank low on the horizon, Farid was ready to collapse. Whatever demons chased on Dustfinger's heels had the man going just as strongly as the moment they started. The chilly, sweet scent of the trees was tainted by vague wisps of acrid smoke. Farid was rather sensitive to the smell and his nostrils flared in search of the source, but every time he caught a hint, it disappeared. When dusk settled and the light grew dim, Farid was finally able to identify the source. Blades of tall grass were smoldering on the side of the trail. He paused, licked his finger tips, and pinched out a tiny flame growing on the end of one beside him. He studied his mentor's wide shoulders as the retreated into the distance.

"Dustfinger!" he called.

There was no response.

"Dustfinger," he tried again, jogging to catch up. He placed a hand on Dustfinger's shoulder to break the other man's reverie.

"What!" he older man snapped, whipping around and dislodging Farid's hand.

Farid could not answer. Dustfinger's face was contorted in a weird mixture of pain and anger and his eyes blazed hotter than the fire the man produced.

"What!" he growled again. This time his hands flew up and gripped Farid tightly around the shoulders. A caustic stench clung to the hair in his nose and his eyes watered up as he fought the urge to sneeze. Glancing down, Farid realized that Dustfinger barely had control of his fire. The man's palms were flaring bright orange and dying down again just as quickly. The heat was singing his leather coat and beginning to burn through it completely.

He reached up slowly, keeping eye contact with Dustfinger the entire time. "We should rest now," he said calmly, as though he was soothing a wild animal. And in that moment, Dustfinger was a wild animal. When Farid pulled on the man's sleeve to get the burning hand off of him, a snarl twisted the man's face and vise clamped down on his wrist.

Farid ground his teeth together and hissed in pain. The fire beneath Dustfinger's skin flared to unbelievable heights and seared through Farid. He knew the pain was shining through his eyes and could not really help the occasional twitch on his face although he tried his hardest to suppress it. Tears welled up behind his eyelids but he kept still and held Dustfinger's fevered stare. If he broke it even to blink, he would lose control.

"It's getting dark," Farid ground out. "We should rest now." He was trying to get through the poison Dustfinger had managed to fill his mind with; he was trying to reach his mentor somewhere in the fog of pain, confusion, and anger. The heat around his wrist was becoming unbearable. It was like he'd pressed it against a pot, heated over the fire for hours and unable to remove it.

"Dustfinger!" he cried. Once more there was no response. The fire dancer did not speak, he did not loosen his grip, he did not even blink. In fact, the man's eye brows knitted together and his expression solidified into one of pure anger.

He is no longer seeing me, Farid thought to himself.

No, Dustfinger was, in fact, seeing every person who had done him wrong, every person who had ever let him down. The young man in front of him bore the brunt of his anger along with the name and face of every disappointment in Dustfinger's life.

Farid tugged on his arm, trying to break free but Dustfinger's grip was too strong. Panicking, Farid brought his free hand up and blew heavily into his palm, bringing to life his own inner fire. He snapped his fingers once to spark the inner fire and clamped down on the wrist of the hand that imprisoned him. He poured every ounce of fear and agony he had into the flame that flickered with in his chest. It erupted under the onslaught of emotional fuel and burst out of his palm. Flames flickered between his fingers and ate hungrily at Dustfinger's skin and clothes.

His wrist hurt so bad, he could not feel it when Dustfinger released him. He did, however, notice when Dustfinger's wrist wrenched out of his grasp. Farid forced open the eyes he'd clamped shut while he focused. It was almost dark and in the faint glow emitted from their palms, Farid could see the absolute horror in Dustfinger's eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

The apology was whispered into the night with shock and agony and Farid almost missed it behind the roaring in his ears.

"I-" Dustfinger began, looking around him.

Farid pressed his lips together and looked down at his open palm. The skin on his wrist was shriveled and red, blistered from the intensity. He looked up to find Dustfinger half turned away with his hands up by his head, fingers spread wide. It appeared as though Dustfinger wanted to drag his hands through his hair but couldn't or he'd burn his hair off. Not thinking about it, Farid lashed out and grabbed one of Dustfinger's glowing hands. He pulled the larger man around to face him and threaded his fingers through Dustfinger's own so that they stood with both their palms connected.

He stepped closer.

Dustfinger's face was cast in strong shadow, as his own must have been, but Dustfinger looked worried. His gaze was not still; it flickered from his eyes, to the ground, to their interlocked hands, and back to his eyes again. The older mad licked his lips a few times and they sometimes parted as though Dustfinger wanted to say something but no sounds ever came out.

Farid took several deep, calming breaths to get his breathing back under control before he leaned in and whispered, "I can take it."

The fire dancer's eyes grew wide and then his face hardened as it had before, only with an entirely different emotion. His fingers pushed through Farid's own and clenched around his knuckles, squeezing the bones almost painfully. The fire, too, flared up again but, connected at the palms as they were it did not hurt the way it had before. Instead, Farid felt the Dustfinger's fire burning through him to his very core, building up there beside and inside his own. He blazed in return, allowing his fire to pour into Dustfinger the way Dustfinger poured into him.

His mentor's pupils were dilated to the point where, in the faint glow, they looked completely black. His mouth hung open as he panted heavily. Farid concentrated and sent a pulse of energy through the link. "I can take it," he whispered again, his eyes never leaving Dustfinger's.

Warm, hot lips, descended before Farid had a moment to process. They moved against his own quickly and forcefully. He was tugged forward by his hands and when he collided with Dustfinger's body, he felt his knees grow weak.

Yes, he hissed within his own mind. This is what he never knew he'd always wanted. Farid opened his mouth and licked Dustfinger's lips with a pointed tongue. The groan he received moments before a slick tongue slithered out to wrap around his own shot straight to his groin and he felt himself grow stiff against the other man's thigh.

Farid participated avidly but Dustfinger controlled the kiss. He bit and nipped at Farid's tender lips before diving back in with his tongue. It was strong, forceful, and controlling but Farid was more than will to submit once again to his mentor's needs.

As their arousal mounted, so did the heat within them. It rolled between them like a wave a molten rock and built up its strength with every pass. Farid ripped away from Dustfinger's intoxicating lips as the heat became too much. His fingers squirmed in Dustfinger's grasp until he finally managed to break their grasp. The fire did not pulse between the two of them anymore but Farid could feel it vibrating in the small gaps where their bodies did not meet.

He pressed his lips back to Dustfinger's desperately before pulling back. "We- we should get off the trail," he gasped. Dustfinger, when deprived of Farid's kiss, had dove down and began sucking on the skin below his ear. The arousal tugged at him and his penis strained against the fabric of his trousers.

"Dustfinger," he moaned, when the fire dancer nipped at the skin.

Heat bloomed on his backside where Dustfinger spread his hands wide. They slid down until the cupped the back of his thighs, just underneath the curves of his ass, and they lifted. Farid jumped up in compliance and wrapped his legs around Dustfinger's waist.

It was awkward, Farid had to admit. He was not a small young man and he had the added bulk of Gwin's bag around his back but he could not tear himself away from worshipping the man's stubbled jaw as he was carried through the tall grass towards the trees. He licked, he bit, and he nuzzled, loving the rough texture against his skin.

The light around them got minutely darker and in response Farid clenched his hands on Dustfinger's shoulders and his thighs around Dustfinger's waist in expectation of being put back on his feet. To his utter surprise, he felt only the loss of one hand before the bag slung around his chest was tugged forcefully over his head. He barely registered the dull thud as the bag was dropped carelessly to the ground. Next thing he knew, rather than being put back on his own rather unreliable feet, he was pressed back against a solid tree trunk with Dustfinger bringing fire back to the surface of his skin with his mouth. He saw a dark shadow steal out into the forest and, in the back of his mind he wished Gwin luck in hunting.

All of a sudden, Farid needed more. He need more skin, more heat, more friction. He needed more of what Dustfinger had to offer and he needed it as quickly as possible. Frantic, clumsy hands pushed at the collar of the other man's jacket, trying to force it off but were completely unsuccessful. "Put me down," Farid insisted.

Dustfinger gripped the young man's ass again and lifted him away from the tree, spinning to set him down on his feet.

Farid tugged forcefully at the lapel of the man's coat and shoved the heavy cloth down over the broad shoulders, allowing it too to fall to the ground heedlessly. His hands slid up strong arms and rested wide on the other man's chest.

"More," Farid hissed, all of a sudden loving the smell of burning cotton under his finger tips.

Extraordinarily hot hands gripped clamped around his wrists for a brief moment. Farid suppressed the grimace of pain before it showed on his face when the older man aggravated his burnt flesh.

"Yes," Dustfinger rasped, staring intently into his face. He pushed Farid's hands away and stepped back, drawing his shirt over his head in one slick move. He stepped into his space and Farid was overwhelmed by the man's strong, musky scent, enhanced by the heat and the sweat pouring off of them both. Dustfinger quickly divested the Arabian of his own jacket and shirt and while he moved on to unfasten the younger man's pants, Farid lightly ran blazing palms across the fire eater's bare skin. By the time Dustfinger had stripped him completely naked, Farid's fingertips had slipped beneath the top of the other man's pants. He did not know if he was caressing or burning the sensitive flesh that usually remained hidden and protected from the elements but judging from the noises Dustfinger was issuing, it didn't matter in the slightest.

He shivered slightly as the cool night air moved across his fevered skin. He felt lonely and cold when the fire dance pulled away. He was already frowning and on his way to complaining when he realized that Dustfinger was pushing his own trousers down, removing his socks and shoes as well. He found that he could not complain when, moments later, his arms were full of warm strength with two bright hot hands smoothing down his lower back.

Farid tilted his face up, teased, plump lips half open. Dustfinger's lips descended on his own and kissed them roughly at first but slowly eased into gentle pecks with a ghostly tongue sliding over the delicate skin. "I don't want to hurt you again," he breathed into Farid's mouth.

The younger man pulled away and looked around him on the ground. The bag he'd carried all day was discarded yards away but his clothes were bunched up in a pile around his ankles. He stepped back and scooped up the articles, laying both his and Dustfinger's out until they created a little bed, of sorts. Hastily sitting down on them with his knees pulled up to his chest, he looked up into Dustfinger's nervous face. Slowly and deliberately Farid leaned back on his elbow and allowed his knees to fall apart.

"I can take it," he declared evenly, refusing to let the fluttering in his chest show in his eyes.

Dusfinger approached inelegantly and collapsed to his knees between Farid's ankles. His fingertips ran around the curve of the Arabian's kneecap before trailing down the soft skin of his inner thigh. Farid bit his lip. His head fell back between his shoulders. He trembled as his hair slid back off his shoulders, tickling and arousing him there as Dustfinger tickled and aroused him lower.

Farid was tense and ready to scream by the time Dustfinger's hand reached his erection. The fingers were slow but firm as they threaded around the base and smoothed down around his balls. Dustfinger did not spend much time touching him there. Instead, he pulled his hand away.

His head shot up and he watched blearily as the fire dancer spit onto his hand and spread the liquid around. Farid groaned when the damp fingers circled his opening. He was breached and his relief was so strong his arms gave out and he thudded onto his back.

To be opened, stretched, and filled felt far better than he had ever imagined. Dustfinger's calloused digits were stroking him from the inside out, fueling the flames higher and higher. Farid's hands clenched and unclenched within the blond tangles; they were restless but he didn't not attempt to touch or pleasure Dustfinger. The sooner his body was relaxed and ready for him, the sooner Dustfinger would be able to reach a sort of solace within him.

Dustfinger did not waste time; he used his fingers to stretch Farid out and withdrew them the moment he thought he would not hurt the boy. Farid moaned and writhed discontentedly when he was left empty and cold, exposed upon the ground. He wanted, he needed Dustfinger to rekindle the flames of passion that had been briefly banked during the necessities.

As Dustfinger lowered himself down until he pressed full body against the hard, young body beneath him. His head ducked down and he clamped his teeth firmly into the meat between the neck and shoulder as he guided himself into the welcoming heat.

Farid gasped, his eyes bulging out as he lurched up against Dustfinger. He had wanted more and the fired dance had certainly provided that. He was full and burning from the inside out as Dustfinger pushed into him again and again, harder and faster each time. His hands splayed out to the side to steady himself as he fell back against the ground and pushed his hips up to meet Dustfinger's thrusts.

Pine needles beyond the cover of his clothes prickled at the skin of his arms. Curls of smoke escaped from under his palms but he was too far gone to care if he burned the forest down around them during the night.

Dustfinger reached out to one side and pulled Farid's hand back, placing it on his shoulder. Farid immediately brought the other one up too and pushed them all the way down the fire dancer's back to grip the other's man's ass, urging each thrust to become harder than the last.

Hot, moist breath fanned out over his neck as Dustfinger panted heavily, unable to bite or tease but also unable to move away. His face was to the sky, eyes wide and unseeing. Beyond the heavy breaths in his ear and the faint slap of skin on skin, the clearing was quiet. The inquisitive whooing of an owl sounded far in the distance and the soft rustle of tree leaves in the wind cushioned them in the dark, deserted wood.

Farid tilted his head up and sucked on the rim of the ear closest to him. Dustfinger grunted and pulled away, propping himself up in his elbows. The angle of his thrusts changed and he hit something deep within the Arabian that ignited the blaze once more, causing sparks to unconsciously fly from his finger tips.

A hiss escaped from Dustfinger's contorted face.

"Your hand," Farid gasped. "Give me your hand."

It took a moment for his request to make it through Dustfinger's lust addled mind. When it did, the older man somehow managed to keep his furious rhythm while he lifted off one elbow to meet Farid's open palm with his own.

This time when they met, Farid pushed his fevered passion through the link. It was steady and hot, rising quickly with every thrust until finally the tension in every muscle became too much and he arched up in release.

His fire blazed and filled the small clearing with bright orange light, followed moments later by Dustfinger as an echoing wave of release rolled back into Farid's tired body. He felt warmed by the exchange; every part of his body was pleasantly relaxed and sweaty. If he hadn't been so completely sated with Dusfinger's heaving body sprawled on top of him, he would've even been aroused by the feeling.

It took several long moments for the embers to cool within them and for their breathing to return to normal. Farid's breathing was restricted by the completely unsupported weight on his chest but as he gently pet Dustfinger's cool, damp shoulder he knew he wouldn't have it any other way.

Eventually, though, Dustfinger regained his senses and heaved himself off the younger man, weary and thin. "I'm sorry," he said quietly for the second time that night, managing to sound just as lost as before.

"I am not," Farid admitted, watching the sky above him between gently swaying branches.

Dustfinger looked over at Farid in surprise. Farid looked back.

"You were in distress," he informed his mentor as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You needed to vent your anger and your pain and I-"

Dustfinger hung his head down, shook it, and laughed. "And you can take it," he finished, laughing good naturedly.

Farid sat up and pulled Dustfinger's shirt over to wipe his sticky release off his stomach. "I can!" he said indignantly, tossing the shirt and hitting Dustfinger square in the face. Dustfinger sat up and pulled the messy shirt carelessly from his grinning face. "I know, I know," he soothed, rubbing his hand up and down Farid's arm. "I'm beginning to think there's nothing you can't," he added solemnly.

The Arabian gazed peacefully into Dustfinger's eyes, noticing that they'd returned to their normal color. He pushed the older man back down upon the spread clothing and lay down beside him, nestled up close. He slung one arm across Dustfinger's chest and propped his chin up on the back of his hand so he could look down into his eyes.

"I am going to change the ending of your story," he informed the fire eater lowly.

Dustfinger paused and then ran his fingers through Farid's hair. With a small quirk in the corner of his mouth, he said, "You already have," and guided the dark head down onto his chest so that they could both sleep before the sun rose.


End file.
